Light the Weary Way
by Platerair Queen
Summary: He had strange, fanciful ideas in his head, when a little boy. As a man, still they ran, but to be sure, he lit up journeys, in that way of his; as if he carried a lantern in hand to guide the way, when lost and weary.
1. Filial Bonds and Their Nonsense

**DISCLAIMER**: I own nothing. If I did, I'm pretty sure I'd be rich, but yeah...

**BETA**: JUST ME AND MY SILLY LITTLE SELF. And Word, that too. For some reason Word kept labeling 'Marquess' as wrong – Word, I know what I'm spelling! DX

Your thoughts and correction would be greatly appreciated, even in a PM, lovely lads and ladies!

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_**Light the Weary Way**_

_Prologue_

**Filial Bonds and Their Nonsense**

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It was in the rays of the sun that they were told not to wander far from the village walls. Nighttime was even more dangerous. The children were told to hush and bundle themselves up tight in their beds; shut their shutters closed, squeeze their eyes and pray that when the sun up again, they would awaken safe and sound.

The Sacaen: people of the plains, mountains, rivers and the sea. No where you could look, past the gardens, through the thin growth of trees, towards the direction of gold-etched castles and capitals, would you see them, but stories of sightings were still told. Their skin brown, gold and their heads: green as vines and hissing snakes. Sacaen eyes were said to be bewitching, as piercing as a dragon and sharp as a hawk.

The children knew nothing of such. All told, they thought Sacaen as monsters in the dark, unnamed shapes filled with nightmares and places where the beasts roamed, eyes glinting in the black of moonless nights.

"They will take you away, and never will you see us again." Mothers and fathers would explain carefully to their wide-eyed offspring. "They will feed you stories to fill you up from belly to mind, and you won't be able to see two feet in front. You will lose your soul to them."

There was a simple rhyme taught to the children, to help them remember, and it was as a play-song, sung between games, hauntingly.

_Sacaen, Sacaen_

_All brown and green_

_Sacaen, Sacaen_

_In the trees_

_Sacaen, Sacaen_

_Don't take us please_

_Sacaen, Sacaen, Sacaen_

As an extra precaution, the children residing in the village proper repeated senselessly, every day, "Sacaen in sight, run in fright," until parents nodded stoutly and let them go out to play.

The Lady Chire of Sir Magistrate Baker was one such person that the children ran from, and the adults were wary of – pulling their children close, wrapped tight in fathers' arms and mothers' skirts. Centuries upon centuries of incidents and stories – all fear and thinly veiled disgust - all directed at one woman.

Women would shake their heads, lean in close and whisper, "Such a bewitchment. Look at her. How she has turned Sir Magistrate's head on backwards!" They could not see why else their Sir Magistrate would take her into his arms – whatever could it be but a charm by a savage witch pretending to be a noble lady?

Men would carefully avoid direct eye-contact and turn their heads away from her whenever she deigned to pass into town on an unsaddled horse, a leg on either side. They did not need to see such an uncouth, wild-haired savage, to know that she would bewitch and simper like a tramp on a corner; waving her arms and baring all teeth like a viper.

It was on a day of bad omens, that news leaked from the Magistrate's manor, spreading like wildfire.

Lady Chire (and how the people cringed to call her station as it was) was with child, a second for Sir Magistrate and a first for the Lady Chire.

Even more boggling to the minds of the village citizen, was the amount of people coming from the backwoods area, where the ground was so unfertile it had to have been salted. The lines as long as the news lasted for the week until the end of the month; they came, like a stream of ants. Pates as brown as the earth and sand, like their own, and skin as pale and worked as the common village peasant. What event truly sent their minds ablaze and their mouths moving were the gifts. All sent to the manor on top of the largest hill, personally.

There were hewn dresses of linen, all big and billowing in the middle and of various colours. Scarves made in red, yellow and blue for her hair, and slippers too, to fit to her soon-to-swell feet. There were baskets, hand-woven, and intricately so, filled with fruits and vegetables, ripe enough to water the mouth. For each gift, there were thrice as many well-wishes and charm bangles for health and prosperity for the Lady Chire and her unborn child.

Perhaps the most eye-catching of the troupe of people, were near the beginning: a family with hair as deep red as their Pheraen Marquess's line, but with none of the wealth. The family of two, than later three accompanied by a brown-haired man, kept appearing over and over, and each time, was warmly welcomed inside by the Lady Chire herself.

~*~

"Now, Willow, here, come here." Impatiently, Sarah of Lycia of Pherae, held her hand behind her with a backwards look. As Wil ran up from where he had been crouching to eye whatever had caught his interest, Sarah sighed, "You want to make our good visit last, right?" Wil nodded vigorously and Sarah smiled, "Yes, you do! Right. Well, we must come together, then."

Wil scrunched up his nose, "It's _Wil_. What about Father?" He took her hand and gripped it firmly, legs quickening their pace to keep up with his mother's long strides.

Sarah slowed her march, "He'll meet us half-way. He's finishing up the chores you didn't." Sarah looked down and saw her son duck his head, ears red, and hid a satisfied grin.

"M'sorry, Mama."

"Mm. Yes, and you should be. It's not in every home that the son can laze himself away whenever he feels like it!"

Wil threw his shoulders back and glared, "I'm not a laze! I was exploring, I was! And I almost found the Frog Prince, and he was really hard to find, too."

"Frog princes? Next, it will be swan princesses, and after that, pegasi fowls!" Sarah laughed. Her son had quite the imagination. He was always coming back home, announcing one thing or another: he fought a wyvern with mean eyes, or that he rescued a beautiful fairy in the meadow behind their home and she gave him sweets in thanks, and other tales more fanciful than the next. Sarah and Yaoss of Lycia of Pherae nee Bern were practical people and hard at work their entire lives, and could not see head-to toe about the things Wil spouted or how his mind worked. The couple, living in their simple straw-roofed home, loved their bright Wil regardless, and found no harm in indulging him as the child he was. Even if he befuddled them to no end, as he was wont to do every day from morning to night.

"I dare say a girl has less imagination than you, Wil-bug." Sarah said, casting the sanguine-haired boy a teasing look.

Wil took offense, "I'm no girl! I'm a boy!"

"I should think you are! Else I'd wonder who robbed my cradle!" Wil wrinkled his nose and sent his mom a knowing grin,

"Mama, you would love me, anyway." Sarah chuckled at this and blew him a kiss.

The pair continued in content silence, only broken every now and then when Wil asked a quick question, pointing with questing fingers at the environs or above into the blue, cloudless sky. Sarah answered as best she could, her throat questing for water several minutes later. They were not half-way yet, having lived a good day's walk from the village proper.

Sarah glanced about her, and recognizing a few trees by their white and gray patterned bark, led Wil in their direction with a tug.

"And where's fairy mushrooms there's pix – where we goin', Mama? Off the trail?"

"Mama's thirsty, love." She looked down at him, "Aren't you?" Wil nodded and rubbed his throat, with a wince.

"Very. I think I stretched it too much! Feels like I ate a couple'a rocks."

Sarah sighed, "You are terribly dramatic. I should sell you to traveling performers."

"_No_, don't sell me, Mama!"

"Oh, _Wil_, I'm jesting you!" She caught the tell-tale sound of water in the distance and gave herself a mental pat of congratulations.

"I'd be laughin' too, and I'm not." Wil pouted at her for a second, than the expression fell away, "What's that?" Wil asked, pinching the top of one ear with his free hand and moving it about.

Sarah came to a halt and watched him, unsure whether to laugh, "… What are you doing, Wil-bug?"

Wil ignored her, eyes squinting. "I'm listening." He stretched his reddening ear out further, before lessening the tug, and repeated the motion.

She decided Wil was being serious. "To what? The water? That's water, love." Sarah answered, belatedly. "You know that. … And why're you pulling your ear like that? You aren't going to hear any better." Sarah resumed their walk to the small brook she knew was a minute or two past the copse of trees in front of them.

"A fox said it would help." Wil explained, as if it was common knowledge.

"Ah." Sarah did not know how she had created such a bundle of wild imagination, but she managed, somehow. Sarah shrugged and decided Wil was being Wil, as usual.

Wil eyed something with a grin, "I see it! I see the river, Mama!"

Sarah smiled. "I know, I can see it myself, now. Sharp eyes, Wil. That's a good thing!" Wil's eyes and lips upturned happily. What Sarah also thought was a good thing, was that Wil stopped tugging at his now-abused ear.

The trees and the sun's rays changing their leaves yellow-green paused abruptly, as the riverbed burbled happily two feet in front of the mother and son. They stopped, then, toes of sandaled feet dappled by the water's natural spray, an inch from the winding water source.

Sarah let go of Wil's hand, and motioned for him to drink, and cupped herself a mouthful, exclaiming, "Ah! Refreshing and crisp, as cold as dawn's kiss." Sarah noticed Wil being peculiar, more than usual, at the corner of her right eye and turned her head to gather more insight.

Wil was bent over double, supported mostly by his toes, head so close to the water's surface his nose nearly touched it, whispering something. After he was done, he gave a grin and nod, soon scooping up his own fill in two small hands.

Sarah knew she didn't really want to know, but, "Wil-bug, what was that you just did?"

Wil gave her a glance with his browned-honey eyes and was quiet.

Sarah suppressed a shiver, and prodded, "Wil? Wil-bug." She repeated her affectionate nickname for him, sternly. "Mama wants to know." When Wil remained silent and watchful, Sarah cocked her head to the side and added, "So that Mama can do it, too."

Wil's queer look faded immediately, replaced by eager and child-bright eyes. Sarah felt her chest and gut lose the tightness and smiled back at Wil.

Wil straightened himself out and sat down on his rump beside her.

"I was talking to the water and asking to drink. You should always make sure to be polite and ask for whatever you want." Sarah forced a nod. That was a mannerism she and Yaoss had made sure Wil knew and practiced. Too many children, peasant and noble, were ignorant to etiquette or ignored it – unless in front of their parents – and Sarah and Yaoss were proud to say that this politeness, if directed to odd things sometimes, was something else that separated Wil from the other unruly children.

"I see." Sarah did not. Sarah turned her attention to the river, feeling Wil's heavy stare. She looked down into it, seeing a blurry, darker version of herself, and wondered if she looked hard enough, this time, she would see what Wil saw everyday from his eyes.

Sarah looked for several minutes in silence, only the sounds of the river's eddies and the birds hymns to accompany her search. For a brief moment, the wind whistled and picked up into the tree tops behind and before them on the other riverside, and Sarah heard the sea in them. The wind soon died and Sarah felt her moment had passed, for now, but she had not garnered what she wanted.

"I'm sorry," she finally said, quietly, swallowing thickly. Sarah did not see anything that explained her child as he was. Wil leaned over to hug her, tightly, and Sarah turned herself to Wil, reciprocating.

"You're forgiven!" Wil said, smiling at the river.

Sarah felt better, melancholy mood gone. She leaned back to look Wil in the eyes, "Well, I'm feeling much brighter now!"

Wil responded with a screw-eyed look, "I was saying it to the river, not you!"

Sarah's shocked and delighted laughter rang through the trees and carried itself down the river.

~*~

Yaoss was waiting for them, leaning on one of the thick-trunked trees, when they managed to back-track after Sarah let Wil splash out some overabundant energy in the river. Now, Wil was soaked, clothes clinging to him like a second skin. He was still as lit up as before, however, as Sarah knew he'd be.

Yaoss tutted, and reached down to heft him up high, much to Wil's squealing delight. Sarah laughed, watching both interact.

"Rah!" Yaoss mock-grunted in effort, "Is that the water that's making ya' so darn heavy, Wil? Or just been eating something on the side, without telling us, hm?" He slung Wil with an easy, well-practiced motion, so that the boy was seated on his shoulders. Wil craned his neck down to look at Yaoss upside down,

"I've been eatin' what you've been eatin'!" Wil's expression turned to sly, "Well… maybe some berries and roots I've gathered when I was explorin'."

"Gwahaha! That's my boy!" Yaoss guffawed in his booming voice.

"Oh, Wil. Eat too many berries, and you'll turn into one!" Sarah chided, lightly. Wil popped his head back up to give her an alarmed look, but soon grinned back at his mother.

"Nah," Yaoss said, "Them little pixies of yours would fix ya' right up, yeh?"

Sarah gave Yaoss a look that the man ignored, content to see Wil's face light up at his comment.

"Yeah!" Wil looked ecstatic, "They would make sure that I had arms and legs, eyes and ears, and a _nose_, so that I can play with them whenever they want!"

"Gwahaha! Boy knows his parts, yeh, Sarah?" Yaoss beamed, as proud as a man could be.

Sarah heaved a breath out, chuckling, "Yes. He does, that. Now c'mon," Sarah beckoned, reaching up her arms to Wil, and Yaoss bent his neck down, while Wil leaned forward to his mother to be deposited down on the ground. "Off we go."

Wil renewed his grip on his mother's hand, and trudged along beside the two adults. "Mama, Father, what's that?" He asked, pointing to the sky.

Sarah and Yaoss exchanged amused looks. "Wil, the Ever-Curious Little Lad!" Yaoss boomed, eyes watering, "That, is an eagle, that is!" He sniffled loudly, "If I'd ever seen a brighter boy, deal me to Death's door right'a'way!"

"Father!" Wil squawked in dismay.

"YAOSS!" Sarah snarled. "Don't ever speak about things like dying!"

"Yeah!" Wil agreed. He ran to his mother's other side to enable him to grasp both their hands.

"Besides," Wil continued, his eyes shrewd, "Death don't have a _door_. He has a boat!"

Yaoss looked down startled and Sarah was alarmed. "Who told you that?" She asked, sharply.

Wil turned his head to stare at her, "The fairies."

"_No_," Sarah stressed, "Fairies don't - Wil, tell me the truth. Who told you about things you're too young to be told?" She halted, forcing the other two to, too. She crouched down on her knees to look him properly in the eyes.

Wil bit his lip and looked away. "… I'm sorry." His chest shuddered and his throat worked itself audibly.

"There." Yaoss suddenly interrupted, before Sarah could open her mouth. "Wil's sorry, and Sarah, he knows what he knows now, and no taking it back, ever. Just leave him be."

Sarah shot up to glare at him, "Yes, exactly! Someone told my baby that – that… that Death goes in a boat, rowing for souls to ferry! Ferry far and away. And who knows what else Wil's heard – he probably thinks he's gonna go away!"

"No, I don't."

Sarah shouted, trying to put her feelings in words, "There isn't anything high and low that'll keep me from - !" Sarah couldn't even see straight. All she could think of was some man or woman, or a malicious little brat, hissing in her son's ears that he wasn't normal, and only normal little boys went to the golden land. Sarah's chest heaved in deep gusts of air, because she was about ready to turn herself around – maybe to the east, where those ugly, evil Thornbers resided; they always looked at Wil with those queer, sneering faces – and march herself right up to them and punch them and _hurt_ them.

Yaoss grabbed her shoulders, told Wil, "Go find some brownies, my boy," and led her away, until they stood in the shadows of the woods.

"What do they look like?" Wil called, already looking around and wandering for them.

"Brown, cause their brownies – and as little as them buttercups, there," Yaoss explained back, and once he could see Wil was busy, turned to Sarah, and directed her attention from Wil to him. "Calm down, darlin'. Breath in and out," he repeated it over and over, and nodded when she began to feel herself unwind, "And… there. All that red in your face is all gone, now." He pulled her to him and embraced her.

"Mind telling me what's what, Sere? Is it cause he's only four and still so tiny?" Sarah nodded, face to his chest. "Has a big heart and wild head?" Sarah nodded again, suddenly snorting,

"Never get those licks down."

Yaoss chuckled, "That too, that too."

Sarah finally lifted her head, blowing out a puff of air, "Ah! Yaoss, some days I don't even know, you know?" Yaoss continued to hold her, giving a non-committal sound, smiling affectionately. "I mean, just the thought of – just anyone even looking at him wrongly. I lose it. He's my son, my only child."

"Mine, too." Yaoss said.

"You know what I mean."

Yaoss sighed, "You do say things to hurt, darlin'." Sarah was just about to retort, when Yaoss kissed her softly, "… I know, I know." He murmured tightly against her lips, almost crushing her to him with his arms.

Sarah opened her eyes to look up at him, imploringly. "He _is_ yours, too. I won't ever be able to say how grateful and happy you've made me, and Wil – he just took to you like a fish in water."

They stared into another's eyes, and Sarah knew that they'd just overcome an issue that she had known was there, but hadn't known was an issue. Sarah smiled, because she could hear Wil scrabbling away near them, feel the calming breaths of Yaoss, hear his deep thrumming heartbeat, and could stay in this moment forever and -

"Maybe a duck," Yaoss ruined their moment, pulling away with a contemplative face. "Wil don't swim so well. … _Floats_ like he's got himself some feathers, though! Gwahahaha!" Yaoss boomed with his big-bellied laugh, wiping at his eyes, once, and then, twice.

"Ugh," Sarah pulled away with a grin, and gave him a light slap on one big arm, "Always with the jesting." Yaoss released another round of laughter, Sarah's entwined, when Wil's shouts had them turning to him.

"I found them, I found them!" Wil screeched out, wildly running to them, hair askew (more than usual) and grinning all-teeth.

Sarah blinked and asked Yaoss without looking away from Wil's closing-in form, "The brownies?" She had been so angry that she had barely caught the tail end of Yaoss's suggestion to Wil.

"… Yeh." Yaoss said, arm around her waist, as they walked back to the trail where Wil was standing proudly, small hands clenched together in front of him.

"What'cha got, my boy? Found them brownies?" Wil nodded furiously, and Yaoss grinned and bent closer.

Sarah decided that Yaoss's over-indulgence in Wil's imagination was a blessing in itself, and leaned in close to Wil, too, smiling happily. "Let's see what you have, Wil-bug!"

The child looked fit to burst.

"Here!" Wil opened his hands, holding them palms up, as if carrying a trophy. "It took me awhile, but I got them! I did!"

Sarah stared, "Oh, my…" It was sheer will that kept her smile from turning into a wincing one.

Yaoss's eyebrows shot straight to his hairline, "Well, Wil, you've certainly outdone yerself this time!"

"I know! I'm so proud!" Wil spout out, unable to help himself, chest puffed out, "Now, you'll really, really believe!"

"You've got yerself a handful of rabbit shite!" Yaoss continued to say.

Wil nodded, "Yeah! And –!" Wil caught himself and gaped at his father, "What?!"

Yaoss nodded, looking toward the blue above them, mustache quivering. "Yeh, at least now ya' know what to look fer when trackin' fer some rabbit stew!" Yaoss chanced a glance down, and couldn't contain his mirth at Wil's shock, "Got ourselves a fine, hunter-born! Gwahahaha!"

Sarah pretended that that was what Wil had really been after, "Oh, good job, my little hunter!" Sarah desperately latched onto something else to say and babbled, "They're so small – and round! And _brown_! Fit in your ha-ah- _ahn_ - neehehahaha!"

Wil shook his hands free of the feces with a look of disgust, and Sarah saw him study them for a moment, before his eyes flared up and sparkled.

His own laughter soon echoed with theirs, "Gaa-hahahaha!"

The family decided the visit to Lady Chire's could wait and turned around back home. It had been two years, what was a day more?

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**A.N.**: Yes, Wil is Willow. I just couldn't find a good enough name that would enable the use of 'Wil' without questioning why someone would use that short form for their name when they had a normal name like 'William' or 'Wilfredo', etc. etc. that anyone could call them that without strange looks. So, Willow it was. Good thing you won't be seeing it too often, because Wil prefers Wil.

Review, PM, or even just hit that hit counter, it is all good! :)

_Edited: 05/27/2009_


	2. Willow and Chamomile

**DISCLAIMER**: I own nothing. Really, I don't own a darn thing, why are you still reading? You're still reading this, aren't you? You're smiling. You are. I know it. SMILE! :D

**BETA**: STILL ME AND MY SILLY SELF, and Word. Word, it really is spelled pegasi, because I specifically read it in-game! Quit underlining the word.

Your thoughts and correction would be greatly appreciated, even in a PM, lovely lads and ladies!

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_**Light the Weary Way**_

_Chapter One_

**Willow and Chamomile**

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Chire quietly rocked the little girl to sleep, running her fingers through strands as green as her own. The manor was quiet as death. She sat as silent, except for the hoarse sound reverberating from her daughter's chest with each breath, thoughts on nothing but of green tall stalks of grass and what lay hidden in them.

She could almost feel it brushing her thigh to head, her memories that vivid. The wind, too, as it travelled and parted the long grass, like it did the waves at sea. A person could get lost, in that sea of green, if one didn't know the ins and outs. Chire could boast that she did – how she knew, also, all the ways to skin a doe, to catch a fish with nothing but her hands, to eye a flying brother in the sky and know that he would lead her home if she asked and offered a bit of sacred root to his avian being – but she did not, she could not any longer.

Chire stifled a sudden choke in her throat, easily. She rocked a bit harder in the chair, as the little girl grew fussy in her sleep, and Chire relaxed when the girl did.

Chire gave the closed bedroom door a side-long glance. It was as heavy as thick oak could be and locked. Her long, slender fingers – no longer calloused by swordplay, archery or children games – left the head of hair and went to the small back, patting it.

Chire sung, quietly. Her language flowed off her tongue like water running through a previous-barren river, "_Little moon, little moon, how you dream! Eyes in the Sky, reaching up high, dancing and smiling, as you please. Little moon, little moon, how you sing! Loud and stout, hear Mother's cries, open to the gusts of time, not warbling but crowing. Eyes in the Sky, ears to Mother, dance, smile, sing, as you please – be heard, be strong, be unbending… little moon, little moon, how you wake…_" Chire finished off and blinked away the wetness in her eyes.

There was a knock on the heavy door, loud as a cane strike.

Chire started in surprise and looked down at her daughter's face, "Yes?" Chire saw no change in her nap and felt light seep quietly back into her soul.

"Miss Rebecca's medicine, Lady Chire." The female servant announced. There was a moment's pause, silence permeating the air. "Please open the door, milady."

With tense arms wrapped around her dear daughter, Chire stood up and unlocked the door, moving backwards to the rocker.

The woman, brown hair pulled back tight and starch cleaned charcoal uniform, swept in and abruptly paused, watching her. "Milady, Miss Rebecca needs her medicine." She repeated, firmly, when Chire did not immediately place her only child in the other's arms. The woman continued, "And the doctor wrote a script: next month's will be delivered on time. Yes, yes, and he was terribly bogged, but no wonder! Being the most sought-after, and all!"

Chire spoke up, "What she needs is _filasi_ root, in the plains. Young Sacaen children get this sickness and – "

"We are not in Sacae, milady. And this was made by a doctor." The woman interrupted, and although her shoulders did not tense or her tone terse, her eyes said it for her to Chire. "As nurse, milady, it is my duty to, above all else, care for the manor's little lord and lady." She moved forward and beckoned to Chire like a wild animal, "Now, please: Miss Rebecca."

Chire was not ready to give up her daughter. "_Filasi_ root _works_, Nurse Deidre. It does, I know personally. I just need to send out to acquire it. I don't know how else to tell any of you anything different to get you to understand! I've told you what it does and how to make it, _I_'_ll_ make it, and Becky will be clear as rain in a week! Her illness wouldn't be this terrible if you just let me _get the root_," Chire finished, nearly moaning out in abjection.

Deidre's expression nearly turned mulish, "Now, Lady Chire," she chastised, "this dry packet was made in Etruria, by a dedicated Etruscan doctor." She added, "And no one will go out into the wild to acquire some _root_, roots are dirty and meant for the ground not the mouth, milady."

"We clean it!" Chire snapped back, not appreciating being spoken to like an imbecile, and Rebecca moaned quietly, jostled awake. "_Sleep, little moon, sleep_." Chire whispered, and Rebecca settled back into a world where every breath did not ache.

Deidre suddenly slapped both hands over her ears, "Ah!" she cried, looking frightened, "No, no, no! I did not get a contract for this. I came for the children," she pointed a shaking finger at Chire, "not to hear bewitching! Forked-tongues, oh…" she moaned, staring sorrowfully at the child in Chire's arms, "For you to hiss at her in her sleep, defenseless! To hear you, trying to _turn_ her into one of you wild things.

"No wonder they spoke of this house as trying, truly trying. This house is filled with a witch!" Deidre backed out of the room, hastily. She bumped into a body, and shrieked, "_Ah_!" Chire hugged Rebecca and hummed, her muscles losing tension seeing the housekeeper, who must have been making her rounds around the manor rooms.

The housekeeper looked distressed, "What is going on here?" She grabbed Deidre by the shoulders and shook her, hissing, "Quiet yourself! You'll wake the little Miss Rebecca!"

Deidre moaned, "No, not any more, Marian. Not anymore! You did not see what I saw!" The nurse shook herself free, jittery, "The little girl was waking, and then she," Deidre pointed at Chire again, "_she_ put a spell on her, whispered in that forked-tongue, and Miss Rebecca went limp, gone straight to dreams. Forced, I say, forced!"

Marian's nostrils flared, "She's her _mother_, you daft wench! She could whisper, 'wake up you little shite', in the most lovely tune, and the little girl would sleep. Not that she does, Deidre, _quit_ with that look! She has a hard enough time, as is."

Deidre cried, "Do not speak to me in such a manner!"

"_Quiet_." Marian jutted a finger sharply at Deidre's chest and spoke in a low, cold tone, "I can speak to you however I want, when it warrants, and you are warranting it, to be sure. There will be none of your poisoned talk in this home. Lady Chire's a good woman and a fine lady to serve, and a wonderful mother – you talk to her and about her the way you do, and you're talking to me… And I don't like being talked down at." Marian loomed over Deidre's smaller stature. "Now, are you doing the packing, or am I?" Marian asked.

Deidre was speechless, staring at Marian like she had two heads, "M-me. I will." She slid around Marian, not touching her, arms raised to her chest, "Consider this contract void. My Lady Carmina of Ostia will make reparations."

Marian watched her back with hawk eyes and nodded, "See it done. And see yourself out the servant door." Marian and Chire watched Deidre disappear from sight and neither spoke until the stumbling footsteps of Deidre faded to silence.

Marian let a whoosh of breath out, "Well! There goes the fifth one this year!" Marian turned around, and shrugged, "Ah, you didn't have to take that spewed shite of hers a moment more, Lady Chire. We just have to hire a sixth, now."

Chire settled back down on the rocker, and smiled, "Maybe one not able to be bewitched?"

"Hah, Lady Chire!" Marian gave a teasing grin, "Need one in Ilia for that. And they're a stubborn bunch. I think it's the snow that's got to them! Too much ice crystals in the head that they forgot their hearts be needing warmth, too." Marian shook her head and clucked her tongue, walking out of the room.

"They aren't so bad. Sacaen and Ilia are friendly with another," Chire said.

Marian nearly closed the door, when she poked her head back in, "Ah, yes, I know, but bias is bias. Wish it didn't exist but, we've all got our differences." The door gently closed, leaving Chire to her rocking.

"I know that… very much so." Chire looked down at Rebecca and pinched a clump of green hair between her right index finger and thumb, "And you will too, more than me, _little moon of two_."

Chire squeezed her eyes shut and situated Rebecca on her shoulder, burying her face in her daughter's hair. She opened her eyes to stare desperately at her daughter's pale as peach skin next to her brown, hoping that through her, she would understand why the world was as it was.

"I'm so sorry."

~*~

Wil leaned on both hands, stretched out and lax on the ground, fingers gripping the earth. His eyes were wider than usual, trying to take all the stimuli in, but his skin felt funny all day since he woke, like it had another layer on it – it made it difficult to concentrate. He had tried bathing after asking in the small waterhole near his home, but the sun only dried him sparingly, being a cool spring.

Wil knew it was spring. Just like he knew when it was winter, autumn, and summer. No one told him. Wil just knew, because it had been seven moons since all the snow went away.

Before him, the object of his unwavering stare, a few leaps away, was a squirrel. He was eating a nut, pretending he couldn't see Wil, but he could. Wil knew this, too. Wil could see one beady eye staring at him, while the squirrel munched away.

Wil was studying the squirrel, just as the squirrel was him. Wil had decided just that morning, that he was going to be like a squirrel. Squirrels were interesting, Wil thought. All brown and red, and came in different sizes – some small, but most were as large as Wil's arm, from head to tail. Little heads, always, though – and they were so fast, too fast for Wil's feet, but that was why Wil wanted to be like a squirrel. He would be able to run so fast that the wind would laugh with him and he would be able to hear all the fairies and their pixie friends he knew were out there – but it was so hard to hear with his big ears. Maybe if he had a squirrel's, he would hear their tiny voices? The logic was stone-proof to Wil.

"I must look funny, huh?" Wil asked the squirrel, which then stiffened, tail straight up. Wil nodded, "Yeah, I look weird, but that's alright, 'cause _you_ are interestin'." The nut dropped and the squirrel faced him, both eyes boring into Wil's, nose twitching. "I bet I smell, too. And that's okay, 'cause you stink." The squirrel's little feet pattered backwards, and Wil slowly tensed his arms and then legs.

"I'm gonna be like you some day. And to do that…" The squirrel bolted away and Wil shot up with a cry, "… I'm gonna have to study you, so please okay?!" Wil scanned the little clearing he had lain in, watching for any squirrels, for most of the morning. The sun's rays were more heated now, but the wind still whispered into his skin of the cold days and nights of last season.

He found no sign of the squirrel in the tree limbs he could eye, nor the ground area, and sighed.

"Lost him, again," Wil turned to look at a nearby flower and then the sky, "Could you tell me where he's at now, please?" The flower's stem shifted to the left, nearly curving into the ground, petals waving wildly with the sudden strong gust of wind that resumed its quieter touch immediately after. Wil beamed, brushing back the hair the wind caught, "Thank you, again!" He rushed further into the woods, trusting the ground beneath his feet and the sky above his head.

~*~

"There he goes." The man balanced a hatchet over his shoulder and puffed on his pipe, watching a little boy with hair as red as blood dart past. "Again." He had been rushing back and forth, even _through_ the property, all afternoon.

"Who's going, where?" A woman's voice called from inside the house. The man noted she sounded cranky – most likely her feet had swollen again. "If it's that little hellion, from those folks down the river, you tell him to get out and stay out of our land!"

The man winced, sympathetic. "C'mon, wife. He ain't hurtin' no one or nothing, but his feet."

"He'll be hurt something, when I'm through with him, if I have to get off this rocker!" The woman grumbled audibly, "If I hear one more, "please give me one of your nuts!" I'll _scream_. I say, _I say_, that boy sure was _not_ raised right, a'tall!"

The man shrugged, unseen. Personally, he thought the kid had more character in him than his own boys, who were as cranky as their mother on a good day.

Right on cue, like a burst of new air, the boy ran past, " – please, I just need _one_! Just one –!" His sentence was drowned out by his wife's sudden scream. It was most likely something about those 'nuts' he was charging on about.

"_Ahhhhhhhhhh_!"

"Quit your hollerin'!" The man hollered, heading further away from the house and to the woodpile. "You'll wake the dead, woman!"

"I told you!" She shouted back, "I said I would, I don't tell lies! Can't do much _but_ scream with this condition you put me in! Argh, I only wanted two, not _five_!"

~*~

Sarah felt worn come midday. She had woken up at this morning just fine and fresh – got the eggs from the coop with few pecks, a very good omen, and had made some bread to rise and be ready for when her boy jumped out of bed.

Yaoss had already went to greet the dawn before she rose, pressing a kiss to her lips and moving to Wil's straw bed to kiss his head; a bow gripped in one hand, a full quiver strapped securely across his back over one broad shoulder, and a bound hatchet secured on the left side of his belt with his hunting knife.

Everything had gone as well as it should. Wil jumped out of bed, hair as askew as ever – Sarah tried to tame it with a horse-tail brush, and did not succeed, as usual. Wil gobbled down his breakfast after his morning staring contest with the opened window – Sarah tried to make him eat everything neatly, and managed that. Wil scrambled into the bedroom to dress in his day clothes – Sarah watched him spring out of the house like a ball of energy.

Sarah was sure she heard him shout about squirrels and speed, and because she did hear those strange little words conjoined from her son's mouth, she felt she should have known what was to come.

Sarah had no less than _eleven_ visits from different neighbors, and that was just in the morning. This afternoon heralded more than fourteen. The complaints had come from the residents themselves, which ranged from the harpy-like Thornber, to the laidback pipe-smoker Welton, and others who were similarly annoyed or furious. That was what created the throbbing in Sarah's head, like a never-ending drum.

Welton had been blunt, but his eyes shined with amusement, "Boy's been screamin' about squirrels, there, Sarah, in the area. Wife wanted to let you know." Welton had puffed a bit from his pipe, and gave her a shrug and left.

"… Thanks, Welton."

Lady Thornber had been breathing fire, hawk nose so scrunched she looked to have eaten a lemon. "Your boy is a _menace_! He roughshod all through my garden! Fortunately, that boy's got some acuity in that daft head of his and didn't step on any of my narcissi or nightshade!" She had stuck her nose up, and returned to her horse to side-saddle away back to her summer residence.

"… Thanks for informing me, Lady Thornber."

It hadn't been so stressful that morning – Wil did a lot of things on a daily basis, not to this degree, of course, but the people near them on the outskirts of the village knew that her little boy was very unique, and they took the antics with a grain of salt. Sarah had to admit, the Thornbers could have been a lot more venomous, but they were only in the area from spring to summer every year. It did not make her like them any better, however.

That afternoon, however, showed Sarah that maybe she and Yaoss had to sit Wil down and explain to him that the village was off-limits to go near, unless accompanied by them. It was enough that the neighbors were basked in Wil's presence, must he go into the village where the people were more uptight than an unbreakable nut?

Some parents, Sarah supposed, had the benefit of ignorance of what their child was up to, but Wil's did not. She knew her child's mind was like a fount of imagination, but _really_.

"I saw a little red-head, yours? He's been climbing the trees with bare hands and feet! That's dangerous, that! Those trees are taller than the spire of the St. Elimine chapel!"

"He's been eating nuts! Moving his head like he had smoke blown at it."

One, in particular, had been near tears, "He was speaking in tongues!" He looked wild-eyed.

Sarah had been unfazed by that time, and asked, "Oh? What did it sound like?"

The man paused, and cringed, "…Ah… um… like," and then he did a series of odd squeaky pips, and Sarah closed her eyes – it was a poor impression by the man, but she could connect the dots as well as anyone.

"That's a squirrel, sir."

The man had flushed red, "O-oh? Well…" he shuffled back, "Good day to you." He had bolted from the home as fast as he could, riding on his mare.

Now, Sarah stood in the open archway of the front entrance of the straw-roofed home, leaning on it, arms crossed.

Yaoss had been no help. He had returned quiver empty, and wet from a wash in the river no doubt, a few skins over one hand and a rack of meat in the other, his hatchet and bow accounted for. Sold a few kills in town, he said, and saved some skins for the family to clean and tan in the sun. He rewarded his work with a pint of ale from the tavern and was on his way home, shortly afterwards. By that time, Wil had not been causing a ruckus over there, because Yaoss had been surprised at the news.

Then, he had laughed, "Gwahaha! I'll be, the boy's a hunter, like his old man! Learnin' the way of the animal? Quite the technique. Never thought of that."

"You know that is not the reason he's doing what he is, Yaoss." Sarah had glared at her bonded.

Yaoss had grinned and shrugged, taking off his equipment, "But he's learnin', Sere, he's learnin'. Can't ask for anything more."

Sarah was more miffed at Yaoss than ever, that she came to lean where she was, stewing in her anger. Yaoss was both right and wrong, Sarah thought. They had never put any rules that he would feel strangled by, because Wil, no matter how strange, was just such a nice boy. He did the chores when asked (most of the time), he helped her cook (sometimes); he dressed himself once he learned how (all the time). It was wonderful Wil was so independent, and maybe that was the problem. Wil was just lucky that there wasn't anyone with sick tastes around their home (she could not say the same about the village proper) to take advantage of him.

Big, heavy footsteps came toward her, and Sarah glared, gaze unfocussed out into the field waving in the sun, toward the village she knew was there but could not see. Yaoss arms came around her middle and pulled her close to his hard bulk.

"How did he even get there during midday, anyway?" Sarah asked. "It took us more than half the day when we visited Lady Chire – _which we haven_'_t done yet_ - and we start in the dewy morning."

"We had things to do yesterday and things came up today… and you know darlin'… it only takes so long cause Wil loves goin' off trail, you know that."

Sarah resisted the urge to elbow his gut, "_Still_ he's my baby. He should stay at home more. Not chase after fairies, or brownies, or _pegasi_."

"He's four, yeh… but, most of the children go on and explore at that age. 'Cept for the noble children, them parents lock those kids away until they can do nothing but rebel." Yaoss harrumphed, "Besides, pegasi are real."

"Must you focus on something but the topic?"

"You focus _too much_."

Sarah sighed, and rubbed sluggishly at her face, "How are we going to get him? The people in the village basically believe he is nothing but cursed, they watch, stare, gawk and come here to complain, but don't herd him home. They don't want to touch him." Sarah paused and said, "Maybe that's a good thing." Even sick people did not want to touch a 'cursed' child.

"By the time we do get there, he might already be on his way home! Or had found some other animal to imitate and follow! We'd _never_ find him, then!" Sarah breathed in deep and pressed her palms to her strained eyes.

Yaoss rubbed her shoulders, "Boys follow their stomachs, too. He'll come home to eat a nice stewed meal, made by his Mama." Yaoss turned her to him, "But would it make you feel better if I borrowed a horse from Thornber there and went to the village? I'd get there in little time, then."

"_Oh_!" Sarah gasped and hugged her bonded, "Yes, yes, I would, I very much would!" Sarah had been such an anxious ball, that she had not even thought of that – her mind filled with images of Wil hurting himself, cold and alone, or at the hands of some vile person.

"Alrighty, then!" Yaoss gave a crooked grin, "Haven't stretched out the old muscles in awhile – it'll be fun." With a determined stride, he headed out the open door and around the house. "I'll be back with Wil in a bit!" He called out, lively.

Curious and eager to have her son back home and in her arms, Sarah ran to the back window and watched his form get swallowed by the thick forest behind their home.

It was not until later, as she prepared the thickest, hearty stew she ever had, all for the two most important people in her life that something occurred to her.

"Why into the woods like some crawler?" Sarah pondered for a moment, before returning to her fire, humming. It did not matter; she would get both back before supper was cold.

~*~

Chire had not heard of any commotion, herself, being busy with Rebecca and singing her asleep with songs, and administering the _medicine_ to her. Medicine that would not work completely, but the _filasi_ root would. If only she could get her hands on some, she could make Rebecca well again.

Chire did hear the dismayed cry of the head gardener, however, and once Rebecca finally settled into a semblance of sleep, walked towards one of the many windows in the children's wing that faced the well-maintained garden. Peeking out, she could see Hinkin waving his arms at the large oak tree, red-faced, sweat dotting a weathered brow.

"Get down here, ya' little pipsqueak!" Hinkin paused and glared, "Yer stuck? I'm not comin' up there! I'm too old!"

A young voice spoke up behind her, "Mother Chire? That boy's in the garden, stuck in a tree."

Chire turned around, "Daniel." She smiled gently at him, before asking, "There are many boys you know, I imagine. Which one?"

Daniel turned his attention out the window, "The one that visited last time, he laughed loudly. I remember him. He's my age."

Chire's heart quickened and she knew whom: the son, Willow, of the beautiful redhead, Lady Sarah. The one adult, in what appeared all of Lycia, who was the first to welcome her and smile without double-fanged teeth. Had congratulated her and had been happy to hear of her pregnancy, coming over again and again. Gave her a gift on the first day of announcement, and had bemoaned there was not a lot to give but good thoughts and good food. The next day, many families came to the manor door to offer well-wishes and said they would bring their gifts once done, and Chire knew it was all Lady Sarah's doing.

Lady Sarah may have thought that what she had done was not enough, but to Chire, Lady Sarah was a gift from Father Sky and Mother Earth, and irreplaceable. Her son, Willow, was just as priceless – he had the biggest doe eyes she had ever saw, all brown and honey-coloured, and he had the brightest aura about him, too. He was as special as his mother, the fair Lady Sarah, and he lit up like the sun.

Lady Sarah had placed him in her arms, "Practice," she winked, "for when the little one comes." Willow had beamed up at her and laughed, saying, "I'm Willow, I'm Willow, hi! Hi! Your hair's pretty!"

No one had even let any child look at her in the village, always pulled them away, pulled themselves away, and hissed hurtful things, but Chire always grinned – if she let them get to her, they would get to her and burrow deep, destroying her spirit.

For Lady Sarah to plop her son in her arms spoke of a lot of trust, that Chire reciprocated, gladly.

It irked Chire to know that when little Rebecca was born, strong in spirit but with a weak shell, her Lord Baker sent a courier message them to not come because they 'could carry an illness'. Rebecca continued to be ill up to her first year, much to Chire's hurting heart, but pulled through, only to get struck with the rattling chest illness – all Sacaen went through it, once, and it was supposed to last only a week. A week was all it took for the _filasi_ root to delve into the system, healing and soothing the raw, burning ache.

These people, outside of her homeland, knew nothing. Lady Sarah would not have scoffed at her words, or barred her from leaving the manor, restricted her from writing on pen or paper, or sending for help. Chire would have stole away, given the chance and horse, gathered the root herself to make Rebecca well again and allow her baby to finally open unglazed eyes. Lady Sarah would have done her utmost best to help her, and that man, Yasoo? He seemed a good warrior if a bit rough around the edges; he would have taken care to help, as well. And Willow, too, had he been old enough, he was Lady Sarah's only child and just like her. Why, he was outside in the garden right now…

Chire turned slowly to Daniel and spoke, with a calm she did not feel, "Daniel, do you think you can get Willow inside?"

Daniel frowned, "Mother Chire, he is a peasant, unwashed. He could give Rebecca something."

Chire kneeled down and shook her head, "No, no, Willow is a good boy. He washes himself, eats nice and neat, and is very intelligent for his age, just like you, Daniel!" Daniel's frown replaced itself with a proud smile – a first that she noticed. The boy was so serious.

"Like me?" Daniel asked. "He is my age, too," he repeated, whispering, eyes lighting up.

Chire leaned in close, as if she was parting with a secret, "And you know what?"

Daniel grinned and ducked his head closer, "What?"

Chire slowly sounded out the words, "When you become friends, Willow will always play with you." Chire chest pinged in pain, when Daniel's face looked starved, hanging on to her every word, "He doesn't have many kids his own age, and he is very special, just like you, Danny." Chire tried out the nickname, and found she liked the way it rolled out, and Daniel looked nothing short of tearful, smiling at her.

"I go out there, and he'll be friends with me? Really?" He asked.

Chire smiled, softly, "You have to introduce yourself first - Willow can be forgetful. He might not remember you as you him." Chire did not know if this was true, but Daniel did not need Willow saying, "Who are you?" and Daniel wondering if he remembered Willow, why not Willow likewise, and crushing Daniel's eagerness.

"Okay," Daniel said, running down the hall, before correcting himself to a walk.

"You can run," Chire called to him, "You will get to him quicker and your leg muscles will strengthen."

Daniel paused in the hallway, before he charged down and around the corner.

He was a four year old, going on twelve, but his heart was still as young and able to mend, Chire knew.

From this day, Chire would get the help for Rebecca that she had always needed, and Daniel would gain a wonderful boy for a friend.

~*~

Daniel thought Willow sounded like a strange name, like a tree, but Mother Chire had a strange name, too, and she was the loveliest person who had ever smiled at him. Mother Chire was busy tending to his little ill sister to pay him much a thought, but Daniel understood. Mother Chire was his mother, too. She always gave him a greeting and answered any questions whenever he would come to her and Rebecca, and the door to Rebecca's room was always open when he was free from his lessons with Governess.

He was nearing the garden when Head Gardener suddenly began shouting, "Now you've done it, boy! Lookit! Ruined the chamomile, little Lord's favoured flower!"

Daniel's heart stopped, and then restarted with a fiery heat. Chamomiles were Rebecca's flowers. Daniel made sure to pick them fresh every morning before his lessons, and place them at her bedside. He had been running before, but now he ran for a different reason.

Rebecca had looked at him, once, when he had been placing them down in a crystal cup, and for a moment her eyes were clear, and she smiled at him with Mother Chire's smile.

Daniel never forgot that memory, just as he remembered a lot of instances in his mind, especially the smiling ones.

He was going to make Willow weep.

* * *

**A.N.**: In the language of flowers, chamomile means: _energy in adversity_. I thought it was sweet, to make Dan's character so young yet caring for his sister, enough to learn the language of flowers and place them by her bedside to give her strength when she was ailing.

If you notice any difference between this chapter and the last, you're pretty sharp! I was actually trying out a 'Mostly Dialogue' tactic in the last one. Very little description, or tried, anyway. But it's pretty frustrating, for me, personally, because as you can see from _this_ chapter, I enjoy writing descriptions, but I hope I blended dialogue, characterization and description pretty evenly in this one. AND I CLIFFHANGERED… sort of? XD Anyway, enjoy!

Review, PM, or even just hit that hit counter, it is all good! :)

_Edited: 05/27/2009_


	3. Smile the Rain Down

**DISCLAIMER**: I own nothing. Still. My world is a bit darker.

**BETA**: STILL ME AND MY SILLY SELF, and Word.

Your thoughts and correction would be greatly appreciated, even in a PM, lovely lads and ladies!

* * *

_**Light the Weary Way**_

_Chapter Two_

**Smile the Rain Down**

* * *

In Hinkin's good opinion, most friendships started as a budding blossom. Introductions were just like a seed placed in the ground, and the reciprocation was much like placing fertile soil over it. Then, the seed would grow and grow, as the friendship deepened from strangers to acquaintances to finally friends, as the visits became more and longer each time.

Most friendships _and_ friends did not seed and sprout like Lord Daniel and Willow's.

The two little children were quite possibly the weirdest example of two people who couldn't be more different coming together. Lord Daniel being so proper and logical for one so young and Willow being – Willow. Oh, Hinkin knew who he was, just by looking at him: his niece sent him letters by the week from outside of town, and most of them had to do with 'that little imp', along with the foreboding parting words of: 'you will see what I mean, someday'. Hinkin had always known that day would come and it did, fell right from the oak tree and on to the chamomiles, he did.

One would expect the other to be absolutely furious with them, and for good reason. Hinkin, the head gardener, felt he knew for certain who was justified, but he was a bit biased to his little lord and little miss, bless her poor ill self.

Willow did not tumble to the ground, again, by his own doing – although the first had been.

Willow's face also had not punched itself, either.

Lord Daniel's expression was much vindicated and Willow's horribly confused.

"_Wh--at_?" Willow sputtered, wide-eyed, but he sprung up on his feet, "Why did ya' do that for?"

Lord Daniel breathed in, arms crossed, "Because you ruined my sister's flowers."

Willow looked off to the side, where the pretty white petal and large yellow center flowers had been standing poised, but most were mangled and crushed.

"Oh…" Willow looked teary-eyed, as he looked at what he unintentionally destroyed, "I didn't mean to."

Lord Daniel looked unconvinced, but willing, "Yeah? Well, you did."

Willow suddenly faced Lord Daniel with a glare, "No, I didn't!" His expression fell somberly and he pointed at a growth of small violet flowers, "I would have crashed into those if I could have, I would have."

Lord Daniel looked at where he was pointing, and stated, "Those periwinkles mean 'friendship'." He looked calmer, at any rate, Hinkin thought, and more willing to listen to the redhead. He'd never before seen his young little lord so fired up in his life like he had a few minutes ago.

"Oh," Willow looked stumped, then he pointed, "Well, those then." He pointed at a bundle of herbs, growing in tiers of three green, oblong leaves.

Lord Daniel looked, too, and shrugged, "It's alright, now, then. I don't like basil." Hinkin kept his mouth shut, as basil was a complimentary herb placed in most of his little lord's favoured dishes.

Willow looked relieved, "Oh, good… what's basil?" he asked, squinting, looking a bit impish. Hinkin kept himself quiet about that, too. There was something new in the air, an important event was happening, Hinkin could feel it in his old bones. Hinkin did not want to ruin what was sprouting.

Lord Daniel considered, looking at Willow, "They mean hatred," and added as Willow was opening his mouth, "and they taste gross. I tried one raw from here last month." Hinkin decided then, to put through the servant vine to keep the ingredient a secret from their little lord. No sense in their little lord starving himself.

Willow's face scrunched up. "Ew, I don't like them either, I think."

Lord Daniel looked happy, "Want to be friends?"

Willow beamed, "I sure would!"

Lord Daniel smiled, then, very shyly, and Hinkin gripped his hands tight with wet eyes.

"My name's – "

Willow interrupted, "Oh, I know who ya' are! You're Dan!" Lord Daniel's overjoyed expression became suddenly bland.

He corrected Willow, saying, "-iel."

Willow gaped at Lord Daniel. "Wha-? You're name's _Yell_? Well, that sure is weird… I thought it was Dan."

"Your name's _Willow_! And it is Daniel!" Lord Daniel's face became flushed, fists clenched. Hinkin was relieved to see something more than accepting resignation on Lord Daniel's face, and it was all because of the little imp from beyond the forest in the hills.

"My name is not Willow Daniel! It's _Willow_, and I like being called _Wil_." Hinkin was not too certain what went on in Willow's head, but it was as normal as a morning glory opening at night.

"Well, I like being called Daniel!"

"I like _Dan_ better." Willow put in, guileless or blind to Lord Daniel's growing vexation. What impudence, Hinkin thought, this entire time he was not respecting Lord Daniel's higher station, but Hinkin stayed himself, yet again.

"That isn't my name, it's Daniel!"

"It is, so! Dan is in Daniel, and Wil is in Willow, see? It is, too, your name!"

Lord Daniel's constrained expression faded, "… That is true." His eyes were bright with an epiphany, Hinkin saw, uneasy. One impish boy who _thought_ like an imp and acted like one was enough.

Willow cut in to Lord Daniel's moment, "I'm hungry."

Lord Daniel connected eyes with Willow, "Yes, so am I. Before we go inside… " He moved past Willow to the garden bed, Hinkin's pride and joy, looking down at it. He began to pick through the flowers, first to the unruined chamomiles, pocketing them gently and then considered the rest of the flora with keen, yet soft eyes.

When Hinkin observed what he picked along the way through the garden, his eyes finally blurred, because the message in them was so beautiful. It was every the hope, wish and secret in his Lord Daniel's heart, in a single hand, given to Willow.

"Here, for you."

Willow stared at the flowers: marigolds, a branch of fir, rosemary, a calendula, many dandelions, a couple of lavender, a plucked leaf stem of a fern, jonquil and hydrangeas, thyme, with periwinkles dotted throughout, and finally, a single blue violet. Hinkin released a happy whoosh of air, when Willow took the bouquet of flowers with a bright smile.

The two boys went inside and Hinkin heard the tail end of their conversation.

"Sorry about your face, Wil. I was just angry."

"Nah, that's alright, Dan. I would punch me, too, half the time if I could." Hinkin thought, again, that the little redhead was an odd one. At least, his Lord Daniel had a friend to call his own, now…

Even if said friend was two seeds shy from five flowers.

_I used to be sad, all the time, now I feel so much joy. I never believed this would ever happen. Thank you for wanting to be my friend. I'll protect you, and let you lean on me when you need it. I will always be your friend._

~*~

"Up here," Dan motioned with his arm, up the stairs, and was just about to turn to go up them when Wil, still clasping the flowers, goggled. "… What?"

"Ya' have stairs!" Wil exclaimed, "Big ones, too!" He paused and asked Dan, "Hey, why're we goin' up? Aren't the kitchens down here?"

Dan frowned, not understanding, "We don't dine with the servants in the kitchens, _or_ with the adults at this time. We have our own time: it's called nursery tea time. It's our evening meal before dinner."

Wil looked dubious, "What's in it? And it isn't even dark, yet."

Dan answered immediately, "I've never known anything different. And it has tea, for one. Cake, bread, jam and butter. I can send for cocoa, though."

Wil repeated, eyes nearly popping out, "Cake, jam, _butter_? … What's cocoa? Is it good? How do ya' eat it?"

"You drink it, and it's brown-coloured." For some reason Wil's expression turned strange, but Dan continued, assuring, "Yes, it's very good. It's sweet and almost creamy. So…?" Daniel gestured to the stairs again.

Wil sounded an agreement and shouted, "Race ya'," along with a hearty, "Gaahahaha!" He ran up the stairs with loud stomps.

Dan stood in a stupor, staring at Wil, who turned around half-way up with a beckoning look, "Well, what're ya' waitin' for? C'mon! We can't race to your room if I get _lost_ goin' nowhere."

Dan swallowed before giving a crooked grin, "… Yeah, race you!"

"_Yeah_!"

They had turned down two right corridors, when Dan suddenly slammed his boot heels to the ground and abruptly stopped. Wil who had darted past, suddenly curved back towards Dan to stop in front of him.

Wil gave a grin but looked confused, "Why'd ya' stop?"

Dan tried to calm his breathing enough to answer, "My… ah… my sister – my sister… Re- Rebecca," he managed out, wiping at his forehead, and looked at his sleeve in disgust.

Wil's gaze darted down to Dan's front pocket, where the chamomiles were, "Oh! Ya' wanna give her them?" Dan nodded, tiredly. "Well, let's give them to her, then!"

Dan agreed, "Yes, and Mother Chire should be there, too. She wanted to see you." Dan looked stricken, "I cannot believe I forgot. I was so excited."

Wil shrugged, "Well, we're seein' her now, so it's okay. Why do ya' call her Mother Chire?"

Dan clasped Wil's wrist and tugged him towards the left corridor, letting go once done.

"She's Mother Chire, because she is Mother Chire. Just like Head Gardener, is Head Gardener, and Governess is Governess. Father is Lord Baker, but his full title is Sir Magistrate Baker." When Wil still looked confused, Dan put to words how things were to him, "Our servants call Mother Chire, _Lady_ Chire, because that is her title. Titles go before names. Being a mother is a role, like being a lady is. So, she is _Mother_ Chire to me. Governess explained this to me, when I first began to put my words together."

"Why do ya' call your Father, Father, then?" asked Wil, and then divulged, frank, "I think your Governess is weird."

"I don't. I call Father: Lord Baker. But, I say he is my Father in private or with people I feel close to." Dan smiled lightly, "Governess isn't that strange. She is just very proper."

Wil cocked his head and shook his head, "Well, okay, if ya' say so." He said, "Mama is Mama to me, 'cause Mama's, Mama. And Father's, Father."

Dan opened Rebecca's corridor door, and let Wil pass, before he went through too, closing it gingerly.

"Your Mama must have a name." Dan insisted, quietly.

Wil pursed his lips and shrugged, "Well, I guess Father calls her 'darlin''." When Dan explained that was a term of _endearment_, Wil looked unsure, "… He calls her Sere, I think," he said, before, "but I'm not callin' her Mama _Serre_. Now, that's just silly."

Dan's chuckles echoed and bounced along the corridor walls, seeping into the wood, making the atmosphere more welcoming than the light from the windows ever had.

~*~

Lord Thornber had been taking a nice high tea with his Lady Thornber, snacking on the meats and fine, aged cheese, while his Lady Thornber ate a trifle for her dessert, and entertaining in nonsensical conversation, when his groomsman burst in.

His tea cup clinked softly on the delicate Etruscan porcelain, as he set it down on the marble tea table. Lord Thornber stood up, calmly, "What is the meaning of this interruption?"

Lady Thornber sipped her brewed tea and was quiet.

The groomsman bowed, "Forgive the interruption, milord, but there is terrible news."

Lord Thornber assessed him, "Something with the stables?"

Lady Thornber murmured, "Stables go with groomsmen, but of course." Lord Thornber gave her a caustic glance and she concentrated on her tea and trifle, quiet.

The groomsman's eyes never rose from the floor, "Yes, it appears, that a horse… got away, milord."

Lord Thornber stared through him, "'Got away'?" He rapped his cane on the wooden floor, sharply. "I paid for servants to speak _clearly_ and _coherently_. Enough of your dirt talk! … Unless, you want to be without purpose… " Lord Thornber trailed off, eyeing the tense groomsman.

The groomsman spoke quickly, yet carefully, "Lightning, milord, somehow became_ unrestrained_ from his stall and ran off into the woodlands around the property."

Lady Thornber suddenly spoke, "I knew that violent horse was wasteful, scared the rest mindless. Truly, you paid too much for such a creature, Lord Thornber. Probably kicked the door apart, I imagine."

Lord Thornber's nostrils enlarged, and he hissed, "That _creature_ was a successful Pegasus and Sacaen-crossbred, and I had high hopes…" Lord Thorner calmed himself, and could see Lady Thornber's lips try to hide a smirk behind her teacup.

"Regardless, let it go. Consider the horse a wasted opportunity and acquire another leisure activity to pursue. A wild creature may feel more at home in a place just as, and you certainly never did much to break him in, Lord Thornber."

"This place has seeped into your head, Lady Thornber." Lord Thornber glared at her, "I believe I ordered you silent."

"You cannot silence or cage what refuses to be, whenever it pleases you… " Lady Thornber put her tea down and looked up at him and finished with a venomous smile, "Lord Thornber."

"Lady Thornber, there are days like this one, that I believe the matchmaker deceived me. Instead of obedience, I gained _you_." Lord Thornber commanded the servant on the ground to leave.

The groomsman gladly left the room, shutting the tearoom door.

~*~

Yaoss grinned and it was with great restraint on his part that he held in his triumph. "Heyya. Don't know what yer name is, but it don't matter none. Not now." The tall horse, and what a beauty, with his shiny coat of pure white with silver speckles, strongly resembled a Pegasus; however much he matched the common Pegasi, though, his legs were not thin and tapered to weak hooves nor did he have a wings as they did. He did, however, have a golden-spiraled horn growing from his forehead, found in the matured ones.

Yaoss specifically chose him, not because of his obvious good breeding, but because of the strength in his entire build. Yaoss was not a light, short, slim man, but a heavily muscled, bulky, giant of a one. He needed a horse, a strong one that could carry him, with extra weight added too.

Conveniently, Thornber had a lot of horses. This male had stood out more than the others, just with his girth – he looked like a demon horse, and he acted like one too. A perfect match for the home, the horse would get along great with his Sarah. Yaoss chuckled. Wil would adore the horse just because of the horn, most likely, not that he would blame the boy.

Yaoss had enjoyed the thrill, the rush in his blood, as he had manipulated the horse into such a temper that the male beast had kicked the heavy, metal latched stall door right off and into the stall across. Thankfully, it was unoccupied. Yaoss had thrown his handful of carrots and apples on the ground and rushed off back into the forest, before the groomsman, who had gone on an unregulated break, could come investigate and see him. The horse had then followed him after eating his fill.

Apparently, the horse was both gluttonous and vile-tempered. It was either that or Lord Thornber refused him food for misbehavior, and based on Yaoss's creeping, the horse unsettled just about everyone and every horse in the vicinity, so Yaoss would not be surprised.

Lord Thornber would be relieved to know that his mares and studs would finally mate now with the obstruction gone.

He patted the horse, "S'ppose I _should_ name ya'. Hm…" He stared into the horse's eyes, and saw such a charge of energy, that he rubbed the stud fiercely on the neck, "Perun! The god who shot lightning bolts at his annoying arch-nemesis, Veles, chased him into the woods, too, so the story goes." Yaoss chuckled.

Perun tossed his sleek gold mane and stomped his front feet.

"Like the name? Well, good. Wil's gonna love you. And Sarah will, too… after she gets used to ya'." Yaoss rubbed his hands together, excitedly, "Now, let's get on you, yeh?"

He reached for Perun, only for him to canter away, nickering. Trying the slow and cautious way did not work, either – Perun merely gave an unimpressed look to Yaoss and trotted around him.

Yaoss sighed, "Damn me, if horse-nabbing wasn't one of my skills." He began stalking Perun with a resolved grin, "Must've gotten rusty! Gwaha!"

Perun's eyes narrowed.

~*~

Back at home, meal still cooking on the fire, Sarah received a visitor.

"Yes?" she called, turning her head to the right and recognized the man outside the open door, "Oh! Welton! Hello, there." Sarah eyed her pot, and decided it was well enough to leave unattended, for now, until she had to put the carrots and celery stalk in. She stood up and moved to the front entrance.

"Yes, what is the matter?"

Welton puffed his pipe and gave her his usual grin, "It's about your man, there."

Sarah grew concerned, "He's getting Wil – why, what's happened?"

Welton shook his palms out in front of him, "No, don't worry. Just wanted to say he's been chasin' a horse out near the property, bellowin' at it. I just wanted to let you know."

Sarah's gaze unfocussed for a brief moment, and she recalled how Yaoss had phrased his words, and like a slingshot, she comprehended, "Oh, that man! He said he was _done_ with that!" She would have gotten her cloak and stomped off to confront her bonded, but Welton's voice stopped her.

"Your stew, Sarah?"

Sarah nodded, distractedly, "Yes, thank you Welton."

"Alright, I'm off, then." Welton puffed out another plume of smoke, before leaving, he waved.

She returned it and stomped back to the fire pit. She threw an impatient look at it. She could not just leave it, or risk coming back to the smoking ruins of her home.

"Just one more hour," she muttered, intently, "then I'll go get that man – if he hasn't been hoof-footed by then."

~*~

"You have to be really quiet." Dan warned Wil outside Rebecca's room, "She doesn't sleep so well, because of the pain, and only takes little naps. Mother Chire's the same, because she doesn't let Rebecca's nurses touch her."

Wil blinked hard, "Why not?"

Dan slowly shook his head, "I don't know, but I'm sure your Mama wouldn't want anyone touching you, if you were ill, right?"

"Nah," Wil agreed, "She'd probably beat them back with her broom." Dan and Wil shared quiet grins, before Dan raised a finger to his lips as a reminder, and pulling the door handle down.

Wil tip-toed in behind Dan's softer walk, and both boys grew more solemn immediately once the door was shut. Wil's ears caught the hoarse, rattling wheeze of Rebecca's breathing, before he saw her. Dan's eyes were already trained on the small form on the bed, and Wil swallowed, feeling his heart twist, when he looked to the bed, too.

Rebecca was two, Wil remembered from his Mama's stories, but she didn't look like her age. Her small form was nearly swallowed by the blankets covering her up to her tiny chin. Her face looked bone white and thin like a flower's petals. As Wil crept toward the bedside, air gone, he could see all the blue veins in her face, so stark they looked to have been painted fresh – and he sniffled and his throat closed up, wanting to leave the room but he didn't want to abandon Dan, whose eyes glistened like that old man's from the garden.

"She looks barely a baby." Wil said.

Dan's breathing suddenly hitched, when Rebecca's eyes fluttered open.

Something was wrong with them, Wil thought. They were green, but so pale; they looked like clouds had covered them. The whites of her eyes were not all white either, but filled with pale reds and pinks.

Rebecca's eyes screwed up and tears fell and she produced a sound that wasn't one, like a small kitten trying to keen but failing; lips so chapped they were as burrs, and Wil panicked.

"She's hurtin'!"

Dan was already by her side. He reached beneath the covers, and Wil saw him lift out a skinny as a bird wing's arm. Dan clasped her hand in between both of his, barely touching, it looked to Wil's eyes, and kissed the top of his hand.

"She's been hurting for a long time." Dan said, not looking away from Rebecca, who had stopped crying and drifted off.

"She knows your voice," Wil whispered, distraught and red-faced that he had been so loud. It was the first time Wil felt shame for being the way he was.

Dan nodded, "Yeah, she would – I come here every day to give her, her chamomiles." Dan's eyes drifted out of focus, "Sometimes I talk to her, too, about anything. Most times, I just sit here, holding her hand." Dan turned his head to Wil and smiled, "Becky, she keeps secrets good, and she never scoffs or tells me to go away… She's a real good listener - the best." Dan ducked his head closer to Rebecca's hastily, but Wil saw his wet eyelashes fluttering like a hummingbird's wings.

Wil looked down at his left hand, the flowers Dan gave him still being held, and asked, quietly, "Could I give her some of mine?"

Dan shook his head, kissing the top of his hand again.

"Those are your flowers, Wil. They are special because they are for you only, working their magic. I pick chamomile because I know what they mean to me, and I want them to mean the same for Rebecca. I want her to get _better_," Dan choked out, breathing hard. "So, she can open her eyes and _smile_," Dan strained out, and Wil began crying, lips pressed tight, "and laugh and talk without pain… and run around like all the other kids I see outside the windows. I can pick her up without breaking her, and she'll be _happy_ and _perfect_." Dan released his top hand from Rebecca's, to scrub at his eyes.

"So I give her chamomile to her every day, because medicine _comes_ from plants, and they're going to make her well, again… I just have to keep putting them out by her table to give her strength, so that St. Elimine will know that Becky knows she's wanted and to keep her here, and to see that she's trying really, _really _hard every day. And you _don't_ take away the fighters who haven't stopped."

Wil nodded furiously and just reached to blow his nose on his sleeve, when Dan gasped.

Wil, startled, looked down at Rebecca. His breath caught and his lips parted, speechless.

Rebecca's bird-boned hand was squeezing Dan's as tightly as she could, but that was not what caused Dan to gasp. Wil looked at Rebecca's face, and saw that her eyes were not as cloudy, but they were just as teary.

She stared directly at Dan, smiling.

Dan trembled violently, and began to cry.

* * *

**A.N.**: BAH. I had to leave it off here, because I thought it was a good time to, and I'm bawling, cause I'm a SAP. REALLY, WHO CRIES AT THEIR OWN WRITING? Next chapter will be out tomorrow, and longer.

Read, Review, Or Hit the Counter Thing. Thank you for reading everyone.


	4. Perun, Perun Bolt Fast!

**DISCLAIMER**: I own nothing. Oho, I do own this COMPUTER, though. XD Wait, I don't? DARN IT. DX

**BETA**: STILL ME AND MY SILLY SELF, and Word.

Your thoughts and correction would be greatly appreciated, even in a PM, lovely lads and ladies!

* * *

_**Light the Weary Way**_

_Chapter Three_

**Perun, Perun – Bolt Fast!**

* * *

Chire stood quietly, a few steps away from Rebecca's door, letting Daniel release and cleanse his spirit in the privacy of company his own age. She had known, just as with Rebecca's medicine not working properly, that Daniel had a lot of weight on him. What Chire had not known, was how much was put on Daniel on a daily basis.

He had opened up so quickly to Willow. Chire had known he would – Willow was as special as his mother, Lady Sarah.

Chire had thought it would take more than an hour, though, for Daniel to get so close. Maybe a day, perhaps, being the way he was. Then again, Daniel was a very lonely little boy. He had never been allowed outside, it was clear to Chire – children were not reclusive all by themselves. Being impressionable, someone put an idea in Daniel's head - what, Chire did not know. The only person Daniel spent the majority of his time with was the governess, as he held his lessons in the children's study. Hinkin was another, with Daniel wandering in the garden and fond of it, but the elder man would never put something he did not think was right in Daniel's head – he came from a long line of servitude to the Baker Manor and its Lord and Lady - his loyalty and care to the family was as strong as his love for the earth he tended.

She decided that she would keep this close to her heart, this token of knowledge. Once Rebecca was well, then, Chire could see what she could do to pull the reins she never reared for.

Daniel would not suffer anymore, Willow would see to that first.

Chire would see to the rest.

She opened the door, when the sobs turned to hiccups and finally, to soft words.

The two boys looked up, two pairs of reddened eyes, and Chire could see Rebecca between them, and she gasped.

"Rebecca!" Chire rushed to her daughter's side, and carefully kneeled down, studying her in wonder. She caressed Rebecca's green hair and Rebecca looked back, silent.

"She opened her eyes, and stared at Dan, she did," Willow sniffled, wiping his nose twice on his sleeve.

Chire nodded, too busy staring into her daughter's eyes. It had been a long, long time, it felt, since Rebecca had opened her eyes to observe with their myrtle green shade.

"It's been… since she's been only a year and two months, since she last opened her eyes." Chire ran another hand down Rebecca's hair, to cradle her face.

Chire felt Daniel's quiet stare, "I'm sorry, Mother Chire."

"For what, Danny?" Chire asked, forcing herself away from her daughter.

Daniel looked torn, "I didn't tell you… that Becky – Rebecca – was, she had looked before."

There was an odd moment in Chire's heart, where she felt everything slow, like molasses, before it ran like a fast current, "I see." Chire smiled at Daniel, "I'm glad. At least, now I know that her spirit is forever strong." Daniel was soothed, and he turned to Willow with eyes that crinkled wetly around their corners.

"See, Wil? Becky is a strong girl."

"I didn't say I didn't believe ya'!" Willow replied, before ducking into himself, "I don't mean to yell…" He popped his head back up to grin at Daniel, pointing at the chamomile, "Your flowers sure helped. I bet it was them fairies. Or pixies, but they like bush flowers."

Daniel's brow creased, "Fairies and pixies don't exist." Daniel paused for a bit, watching Willow's crushed face. "… But, I suppose they might – if magic exists, they must, too."

Willow's eyes regained their sparkle, then, "Yup, I know they do." Daniel smiled back.

Chire had to watch, amazed, again, how taken Daniel was to Wil. She returned her attention to Rebecca, and was not as disappointed as she thought she would be, to find Rebecca asleep. Smiling, she smoothed Rebecca's furrowed brow with a soft brush of her fingers.

"Willow, Danny," Chire addressed, quietly. She resisted a chuckle when they simultaneously turned to look at her with inquiring expressions – Willow's more barefaced and forthwith, while Daniel's subtler, affecting a light, polite air. "Would you two like to take some tea with me?" Wil's expression went bright like the sun, but Daniel's turned perturbed.

"Sure, I'd love that! Dan told me lots about it."

"… Mother Chire, adults don't usually take tea with the children."

"Did Governess Frenne tell you that, Danny?" Chire asked, watching Daniel's face intently.

"The Governess is weird." Willow put in.

"… Yes." Daniel answered, after a moment's pause. "But, she said that, I think, because I read in the passage that they did, but I never had that. I asked her, and she said that."

Chire nodded her head, slowly. She could see why Governess Frenne would say such things – it would possibly make Daniel not feel so strongly out of depth with himself and his connection to his family, but she had her answer now. Governess Frenne had, maybe incidentally, placed a notion in Daniel's head that it was unsafe for him to venture outside the manor and its compound. Chire remembered Daniel's comment of Willow being dirty and carrying germs to give Rebecca, and wondered if the notion was from that line of thought.

While it was true that others outside and not near water were dirty more often than not, Lady Sarah's characteristic cleanliness had always been apparent in Willow's upbringing. The little boy was always clean, from what she remembered.

Chire smiled, looking at Willow's dirt-streaked face and clumped strands of hair filled with mud and bush-spurs, to his clothes that were all filled with rich plant soil. He smelled more of pine and spruce than sweat and manure.

"Perhaps you'd like to get cleaned up, Willow?"

Willow pouted and firmly said, "_Wil_…" He shrugged and scratched his nose, "Well, okay! Where's your water holes?"

Daniel looked scandalized, "We don't have _water holes_, but water basins or baths." His gaze skirted up Willow and down, and he gaped, grabbed Willow's hand and dragged him out, "You're all dirty!"

"_Yeah_," Willow responded, frank, "I was bein' a squirrel. Squirrels go in trees and run on the ground, and eat nuts…" Willow, Chire saw, shrugged, before the door closed. "Squirrels aren't humans, they don't care about mud getting' in their fur. If anythin'," he added, voice muffled through the wood, "they like it, 'cause it makes them warmer."

"You're really strange, Wil." Daniel commented, not sounding particularly baffled or phased.

"Yeah, I get told that a lot."

Chire chuckled, finally. Sighing contentedly, she resumed stroking Rebecca's hair. "Those boys will grow up quite nicely together. And when you get strong, _little moon_, you will have two wonderful playmates, too."

She sat at the bedside chair, the rattling inhales and hoarse exhales of Rebecca, keeping her company, even as they clawed at her heart.

~*~

There were a lot of things a man, like Yaoss, could do without, but had to take every now and again.

One, was pain. Yaoss had it delivered to him back in the old days a lot, and he had to say: he was no longer as acquainted to it as he had been. His memory served him well, however.

Two, was feeling the wrath of the significant people or person in his life. Yaoss, having run with a rough, rowdy crowd had never encountered the second, until Sarah. It was, unfortunately, one he was forever feeling the motions of, at least today.

Sarah, in all her fiery glory, had stormed over, blue fire in her eyes. She most likely would have smacked him a few times, if not for his body being reared into by Perun's strong hoofs.

Through the ringing in his ears, he caught Welton's chuckles, but Yaoss carefully ignored it.

He would be sure to direct Wil over in Welton's area – maybe say that he saw a fairy or two – Wil would be sure to look high and low, irritating Welton's wife. Welton's ears would be ringing, too, then.

For all her high hollering, Welton's wife had never shouted _at_ Wil. Something Yaoss was personally grateful for.

It just meant he never had to trouble himself over making a woman cry because she made his boy do the same. Not that he would frighten her to tears over his fists – Yaoss had made a point in life to never lift a wrong hand to women – but he did not deny that his demeanor gave most the shivers.

Sarah never had been the type to do that – which explained why Yaoss was her bonded. The woman could look a troll in the eye and taunt, "Go on, club me," without batting an eye.

"-can't believe you were so stupid! _Stealing_ a horse? What are you, out of your mind?"

Yaoss winced and rubbed a sore ear, Sarah also had a mean pinch – a wicked right hook, too.

"- quit rubbing that ear! Deserved it, you - !"

A few feet away, Perun looked unruffled, and mighty pleased with himself.

" –and just what will Willow think – a _trader_ of fine equines for a father – a thief, thief is what you are! - and a pirate for a – _nevermind_ that, it's you! You, you, you!"

"Listen to what she says, Yaoss," Welton said, chuckling. He puffed out of that pipe he always carried with his person, eyes madly twinkling. "You might just learn somewhat."

"Get yer wife to scream at ya' some more, Welton."

"_What was that_?!" Welton's wife screamed inside the house an acre away.

"Yaoss!" Sarah screamed.

Welton took his pipe from his mouth, "Meryl, just rest those swelled feet some – quit eavesdroppin' with your nosy self." When Meryl began to curse up a storm, Welton threw a grin Yaoss's way, "There, got me some screamin', Yaoss. Now," he pointed to a still-fuming Sarah, "you listen to her some, and learn."

Sarah huffed and shortly nodded, "That's _exactly_ right. Yaoss, you don't do something when you promised that you wouldn't do it anymore."

"But I didn't, darlin'." Yaoss insisted, again – as he had sworn up and down, until his tongue felt dry and swollen.

"Well, that horse didn't just walk right on out by itself now _did it_?" She glared seven fiery suns at him, and Yaoss grinned, sweat beading at his brow.

"Perun actually did –"

"You named it? Named it! Oh, for – _Elibe's_ sake, Yaoss – you name something and you get attached. Rule number one of things you don't do!"

"Rather nice touch, Yaoss, that."

Yaoss sucked one cheek in, biting it, "Welton, shut yer trap. Don't need it, right now."

Sarah turned to snarl at Welton, "Welton, go to Meryl and rub her feet or something!" Yaoss wiped his brow quickly, before she turned back to glare at him.

"That man would sooner drink cow's piss than do that, Sarah, and I ain't a liar," Meryl called out to them.

"Yaoss! Welton!" Sarah snapped, looking torn between who she would scream at, before she threw her hands in the air with an emphatic, "_Ugh_! Do I have to do everything myself? Welton!" She pointed at said man, "Go to your wife and love her up!"

"_Thank you_, Father Sky."

"Yaoss!" She pointed at him, and faltered, "… Go home and watch the stew!"

Welton burst out laughing, already trudging back to his house, and Yaoss groaned, "Darlin', I'd burn the house down."

"We'll just have to rebuild it then, won't we?" Sarah warned over her shoulder, stomping away.

"Serre, what are you doin'?"

"Fixing your mess! Get over here, you!"

Perun, for whatever reason in his head, trotted after her.

Yaoss stared, watching them move out of sight in the trees, "Well, I'll be. If she wouldn't have made a fine bandit."

"I don't see you moving, Yaoss." Sarah called, distantly, from within the growth.

"Better get those left-feet moving." Welton suggested, laughing.

Yaoss whirled around and was about to snap at him, when Meryl beat him to it, "Welton, _shut up_."

"Babe, I'm rubbin', not much else to do when I'm doin' this."

"Then, you ain't rubbin' them right, are ya? Otherwise that mouth of yours would be shut and those hands _moving_."

Yaoss, feeling awkward, left quickly. He hoped the outcome of the house was not being ruined by fire. Sarah had not been joking.

~*~

Sarah ducked under low branches and slapped others away from her, traveling to the Thornber residence. She was no longer as mad at Yaoss as she had been. Taking her anger out on the limbs of trees helped that – pretending each one was one of Yaoss's big arms and that she was smacking them silly.

The horse, _Perun_ – Sarah thought it was ridiculous name, who named an animal after an old sage turned _deity _of all things? – made the occasional noisy snort but was minding himself just fine. He followed her the entire way to the Thornber stables. More frequently, he nickered, clopping behind her.

When they reached it, Sarah saw an immediate shift between the people and the horses. The groomsman and his fellow stable hands gaped with horrified eyes, and the horses became unruly.

Maybe terrified would better fit the horses – all were fit to be roped and placed in their stalls, eyes rolling in their sockets, breathing heavily. All went up and reared, some lightly, others completely, giving loud screams. Two, beautiful chestnut breeds even bolted away, causing the groomsman to cry out and order two hands to chase after them.

Sarah slowly turned her head to look at Perun.

She was not too surprised to see him looking distinctly satisfied, head bobbing, nickering again.

Sarah clucked her tongue, raising an eyebrow, "You are quite the treat." Perun snorted, tossing his head to the left.

"Ah… Miss?" Sarah turned back. The groomsman eyed Perun, and swallowed, edging closer to her.

"Yes?" Sarah responded.

"I don't mean to sound… ungrateful… but…"

"… But?" Sarah prodded. She had an idea what he wanted to say, and she masked a grin.

"Um… why did you bring the beast back?"

Sarah saw her opening, "This _is_ Thornber's horse, right?" The groomsman nodded, "Right, well. Here he is."

"We don't want him." He said, immediately, "He made the other horses feel inferior, see. He bruised up the males and frightened the females – though, they gave him a few chases away. They didn't want to mate – no fillies were born, at all, in the past two years. He unnerved them that much!"

"You sure your Lord does not think different?" Sarah pressed, and the groomsman looked unsure and tense.

"I…" He paused and murmured, bowing. "… I will return, momentarily." He rushed into the estate, and Sarah waited, Perun chomping away at some grass, content and eyeing all the commotion he was causing.

She waited so long - she was able to watch the two stable hands come back with the two chestnuts. It was amusing to see the chestnut pair nearly bolt again, upon seeing Perun, looking proud with himself, but the two men were experienced, and tiredly pulled them into the stables.

Hearing the double door back entrance slam, she glanced in its direction.

Thornber came out with the groomsman trailing behind. Thornber looked sour, "Yes? I was _busy_." He took one look at Perun and flushed a prune colour, "My horse!"

"My bonded, found him. Loose and unrestrained." Sarah explained, calmly, "Also, he was pretty bruised up from it. Gave him quite the hoof marks."

Thornber sniffed, "I care nothing for a peasant's wounds – his worth is nothing to Lightning's. Do you know what he is?"

"No," Sarah said, indifferently, "He could be a stunted pegasus for all I care. This horse injured my bonded."

"_Stunted_? Pegasus? Oh, you have no thought to specifics, do you? That is a specialized horse! He's the finest, most successful –"

Lady Thornber's voice suddenly interrupted from second story, "Lord Thornber – I believe you had gracefully relinquished any and all rights to the beast." Sarah looked up, and noticed that Lady Thornber was talking through a fan, covering most of her face, from what Sarah could see.

It made Sarah's foul mood, which had been going away, to bubble back to life.

Arranged marriages between nobility were hard – especially because one could not break it, once it was finished.

Sarah held her tongue, "Lord Thornber – I think I want the horse."

"Pardon, peasant? You want what you won't be having? Hah! This horse is _mine_, I paid a good sum for him. He's on my property again, as you can clearly see – unless common tripe are truly blind – and is therefore mine, again."

"So…" Sarah wondered, slowly, watching Perun, "… If he's on your property, he's yours?"

"Hmph. I said that, yes."

"… And if he's not, he's not?"

"An infant can understand this concept, but yes, that is how it is." Thornber did not look to be listening, content to insult her, which suited Sarah just fine.

Sarah nodded, "Oh, alright. Just wanted to make sure." She turned to Perun, and walked to his end, "Alright, Perun – be seeing you!" Sarah raised her hand farewell, no longer trying to hide a grin, as her back was turned.

Thornber snorted, "Blast the thought – you won't be stepping one foot onto this property. Even the dim-witted midget boy."

Without remorse, _especially_ because of the comment about her son, Sarah brought her palm down sharply on Perun's rear. The effect was immediate.

Startled, Perun bolted, back into the woodlands.

Sarah turned back around, blanking her expression, when Thornber began raging.

"Wha! My horse! Woman, you stupid trollop, what did you do?!" Thornber attempted to make Sarah cower, towering over her, but she remained with her feet firmly planted, and shrugged.

"I was just returning the favour, even if only a little, for my husband's injuries. How was I to know he would run off like that?"

Still at the window, Lady Thornber began cawing in laughter.

Her fan was gone now, she was laughing so hard. Although her face was bruised and swollen, her eyes were vindicated.

Sarah tipped her head to her, Thornber's rants coming and going through her ears.

Lady Thornber slammed the windowpane shut in response.

Sarah decided that it was a good thing that Lady Thornber was such a harpy. If she had to deal with this man every day and still retain her spirit through it all, Sarah thought Lady Thornber should be proud of herself.

* * *

**A.N.:** Aaand, yeah. Here's the chapter. I totally did not mean for it to be late, like this. In the beginning, after I was done, well, the things I was done outside of writing – I was reading it through, and wasn't too pleased. SO I KINDA SCRAPPED IT. I hope this one was to all of your liking – and Lupi Loop, hope you like it! Even if it was posted at 1:39am… IT'S TECHNICALLY (if you totally ignore that today is Friday, XD) THURSDAY, cause I haven't been to bed, yet.

_Edited: 06/05/2009._ I changed the only 'Frenna' into 'Frenne'. It's very clear that I didn't know what to end her name with, XD. Sorry! It's been fixed!


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